Touches of Glass
by AnnaRavenheart
Summary: Ryou had a good reason to be afraid of his touches as they were as sharp as the glass. They made him bleed one too many times and the bleeding was not going to stop, not until he existed.


_**Touches of Glass**_

**A/N:** This piece will contain Yaoi, angst, graphic sex and some moderate gore. If you are disturbed by the mentioned, I do not recommend you to read the story. I own none of the characters, just the plot. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Reviews are appreciated.

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**Never Free**

There was a scarcely audible creak in the middle of the night, scarcely audible for anyone to hear, but loud enough to disturb Ryou's dreams. He opened his eyes slowly, fighting with his eyelashes as they refused to rise. His chocolate eyes darted upon the window that was slightly ajar. The soft breeze caressed the curtains, making them sway. A stray ray of moonlight pried into the room, its long pale hand illuminating the patch of darkness. His eyes followed the trace, leading to the corner of the room.

His heart skipped a beat – he was there, and he was waiting even if he was not supposed to. Bakura, no longer an ancient spirit of pearly mist, but a man of flesh and blood. Very much real and very much alive like Ryou had wanted him to be… _once._

People Ryou knew often spoke about hell and the devils, portraying them black and red. It did not take him a lot of time to realize that they were wrong. Hell was not red – it was golden, a realm of sunbathed sand, an endless desert whose scorching air wrapped its hands around him, making his skin burn in response. The devil was not black – he was white, alabaster white. So much pristine white that even the snow seemed dirty and dark in comparison.

Ryou found himself drowning in this, this chilling incandescence, until he heard the word, just one word spoken in that arrogant, cold voice.

"Yadonushi."

Bakura unfolded his hands in a careless gesture, and Ryou felt so stupid, stupidly scared – and at the same time engrossed – by the act.

Ryou was dreaming, was not he? Not willing to rely on this possibility, he sneaked his hand underneath his pillow, his clammy skin wrapping around the cold hilt of a knife. He never slept without it, not since he had met the demon. Zorc – the worst demon – was dead, but it was of no importance, he was never the one Ryou was afraid of.

Ryou stood up, his trembling hand clenching the knife. It was the only thing able to give him a tiny dosage of security. Bakura observed him, relaxed as ever, showing no signs of being bothered by the petty weapon. Ryou stared at the ivory skin of his long neck, his eyes followed the line of it until it disappeared beneath the wrinkled, oversized collar, joining with the line of his lithe shoulders. Everything was the same as it had been ten years ago when Bakura emerged from the ring, the embodiment of everything evil and everything beautiful. Just this time, Ryou was not a child anymore – Bakura had taken care of that.

Under the eerie light of the moon, Bakura's dark eyes had taken an oddly reddish hue, swarmed with the memories of the centuries, contained by the darkness of bestiality. Unmoving and unreadable.

Ryou could not breath, he was so afraid. This was so unlike fighting behind the Pharaoh. This time he was _alone_, but for some reason he did not want to think about the Pharaoh despite he was the only one who understood what it was like to be haunted by this demon.

His pale skin was almost translucent, and with a sting of self-loathing Ryou admitted that even after all this time, Bakura was the most handsome boy he had ever seen. So much like him, but so much different. It did not make him less afraid, it just made things worse.

"Ryou," Bakura breathed, the sound of his voice clashed against the walls, ringing over and over again. _Ryou, Ryou, Ryou…_

He smiled that icy smile, the demonic shadow on that angelic face. "You thought you got rid of me."

Ryou shook his head weakly. No, never. He was not stupid enough to think so.

"I survived, yadonushi. Survived because of you. Survived because I poured my soul into you," Bakura stated, his eyes glinting maliciously.

Ryou's hand that held the dagger was shaking feverishly – he doubted it would be of any use anymore.

"Poor Ryou."

His name sounded so wrong, utterly wrong when pronounced in that malevolently caressing tone.

"He defeated you… the Pharaoh," Ryou muttered, his hoarse voice strange and unfamiliar to his ears.

"Is that your attempt to provoke me?" the demon asked softly, without any interest.

The dismissive tone caused Ryou's blood to rush to his cheeks, dyeing them scarlet.

Bakura moved towards him with a sensual, panther-like grace. Ryou was so enraptured by his movements that he did not realize what he intended to do, not until a cold, long hand pulled the knife away from his trembling fingers.

"I think this is needless," he stated, his eyes traveling over Ryou as he relished in his discomfort.

Ryou swallowed the bile that formed inside his mouth, suddenly left so vulnerable.

"Scared?"

"No," Ryou lied in a voice whose singular innocence annihilated the meaning of his word.

Bakura laughed that hard, mirthless laugh, the one which made Ryou's skin crawl. "Show me some of your courage then."

What? Ryou was unable to do it. No one was able. The Pharaoh was the only one who was able to stand against Bakura with a chance to win. On the other side, Ryou was the only one able to stand against Bakura with a _wish to lose._

"You have not changed, not at all," Bakura stated unceremoniously, tapping the knife against Ryou's cheek as he observed him thoughtfully.

"You're wrong. I ain't a fool you can toy with anymore, Bakura," Ryou said, his voice trembling with hatred as the anger and fear clashed against one another inside his head like a chaos.

Bakura's thin mouth pulled into a smile, the soulless smile-unsmile. "You do not understand what I want, do you?" Bakura drew closer to Ryou with an air of predatory resolution around his slender frame. A red light flared in those dark eyes and Ryou suddenly wanted to scream. He wanted to, but no sound left his mouth.

Ryou needed to move away, he _needed to,_ but he was frozen like a terrified doe carved in ice. The fear wracked his body and bones, freezing his movements and mind.

Bakura observed him calmly, a faint trace of fiendish amusement playing behind the darkness of his eyes. "Running away?" Bakura smirked as Ryou stumbled backwards.

Ryou halted, his fair fingers curling into fists as he swallowed, trying to swallow his fear along with the bile. It had struck him, struck him all – the honey-glazed words, the poisonous intent, the tarnished hopes and shattered heart. He was not going to beg for mercy as Bakura owned none. He was not going to run as there was no Pharaoh that would fight instead of him.

"You can't harm me, you're an illusion," Ryou said, embedding the resolution in his voice, the one he did not feel.

"You think so?" Bakura asked, arching his eyebrows as he moved closer to Ryou. He was not close enough to touch him, but Ryou's skin began to tingle, the sound of his own breath torturing to his ears.

Ryou wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to make sure that he really was an illusion but he did not dare to. He wondered if Bakura ever appreciated touches or anything remotely close to gentleness as he did not belong to this world – he belonged to the world of clammy darkness and entwined shadows.

Ryou belonged to the world of light, affectionate words and smiling faces. Did not he? Or his place was with Bakura, among the tarnished memories and the darkness that waited to seize him. That lingering darkness that was now here, just a couple of inches away from his touch. The demon's face was somehow closer to his now and Ryou was able to distinguish himself mirrored in those eyes. The white hair fell over Bakura's forehead in messy bangs as he leaned over Ryou, his eyes glinting, always glinting. If he would move just a tiny bit _closer…_

Ryou jolted violently as Bakura used the knife to trace the line of his soft cheekbone – the movement sensual and emotionless. "I am as real as you are," he said softly and Ryou could taste the truth in his words – bittersweet and as offensive as a lie. Sickness twisted his intestines, combined with a chilly sensation that had slowly began to creep through his veins. Perhaps it was the demon's presence, running through his veins like stained shadows.

He was never going to be _free_ again.


End file.
